The Bad-Break-Up Haircut

Reminiscing,

Listening to songs once sung

Not long ago; long enough that the style

Of a while back

Has changed.

.
I was looking for something, and I found a

Cheap replacement.

Lost myself in a basement

So cold, so bare, so alone without a rope

To pull me out.

.
Found out; discovered

The glass box of a thousand lies

Shattered,

Like my spirit.

.
Betrayed

By my own stupid heart,

Life became a poem of brownish-black hatred and wish-I-hadn’ts.

.
Must-change

Changed to

Changed,

And begged for a re-arranged self

.
My glory cut short

Reflected in long locks now wrapped

In a plastic bag.

.
A garden does not appear all at once,

Rather,

Winter melts into drops of dew from which the seeds of new

Life suckle,

And work becomes refreshing life itself.

.
Dormancy ignited

Winter melted

Death resurrected

Shame eradicated and inverted, grace bestowed, faith renewed.

.
Locks grow longer over time

And no one watches cells divide,

But time heals wounds meant to kill,

And brown strands depict a newness

Perhaps under-appreciated.

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